


The Missing

by explos_ment



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daredevil (TV) Spoilers, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Karen Page Knows Matt is Daredevil, Major Character Injury, Matt/Karen-centric, Mind Break, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 02, Separation Anxiety, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explos_ment/pseuds/explos_ment
Summary: Matt has been missing for 3 months, everyone has looked everywhere yet no one can find him. Karen has been having doubts and is briefly considering that he might be gone forever, but when a familiar figure crashes through the roof of his apartment, barely conscious and half-dead, everything changes.





	1. Back to California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has nothing to do with California, I was listening to the song ‘Back to California’ by Sugarcult while writing this and it helped inspire the tone.

The day had been sweltering in Hell’s Kitchen, the forecast called for low 80s, but the sun boiling water out of the asphalt created a suffocating humidity all throughout New York. The sun had finally set about an hour ago, but a thin film of sweat coated Karen’s bare arms as she hurried down the street to Josie’s. She was running late to meet Foggy, much to her chagrin, and the line of perspiration trailing down between her shoulder blades was frustrating her even more. She had no patience today, narrowly avoiding a pile of oozing trash, she turned the corner and started on her final stretch to the bar.

-

Pushing through the front door, her eyes tracked around the room out of habit before landing on Foggy who was seated at their usual table. There was already a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in front of him, and he seemed to have already started without her. She walked over and squeezed his shoulder in greeting before taking a seat across from him, hanging her purse on the chair and snagging her glass. He smiled at her warmly before pouring a healthy amount of the amber liquid into her tumbler. They clinked glasses and both shot back the whiskey like it was water, Foggy automatically refilling the glasses. 

“Rough day huh?” he asked, studying her ruffled appearance. 

“Not too rough, just too hot. Honestly Foggy, I have no idea how you’re in a long-sleeve shirt and still wearing a tie.” she grumbled, pulling at the collar of her blouse.

“Fancy law offices come with fancy air conditioning,” he teased. Karen rolled her eyes as he adjusted his tie smugly. “Hang on, I’ve got an idea.” Foggy stood up from the table and walked over to the bar, he talked with Josie briefly before returning with a frosty bottle of beer for her. Karen gratefully accepted it and pressed the cool glass to her forehead as she listened to Foggy start talking about the latest case he had been assigned. It involved assault with a deadly weapon, the prosecutor was going for voluntary manslaughter but his client was pleading self-defense. Apparently Mrs. Erazo was tired of Mr. Erazo knocking her around, and had finally stood up for herself in the manner of whacking a 9-iron golf club against his skull – multiple times. 

“It was rough looking at the crime scene photos, and not just the ones of him.” Foggy averted his eyes from Karen as he spoke next. “Mrs. Erazo, she ah… She was pretty bruised up. And we obtained her medical records. There is quite the history there, some broken bones and fractures, a concussion…” He took a long pull from his whiskey glass, staring down into the liquid. Karen placed her hand on Foggy’s arm in a comforting gesture, subtly telling him that she understood, he looked up at her and nodded. They both knew that it wasn’t going to get easier anytime soon. 

Karen finished her beer and subsequently told him about the story she was covering involving a murder in Hell’s Kitchen Park. It was a young couple, both shot point blank in the chest and their possessions taken – the suspect still at large. They had been in the morgue for a full nine days as a ‘Jane’ and ‘John Doe’ until the police were able to identify the bodies. They were newlyweds Sarah and Mark Mezzacappa out on their honeymoon to New York, the first stepping stone of an adventurous new life together, cut short by some scumbag loser with a gun. 

“Why do you keep taking on these kinds of stories Karen? They’re so depressing,” he mumbled, finishing his whiskey then adding more to the glass. She sat there in thoughtful silence, fiddling with her tumbler before finishing the contents in one long swig. 

“Someone has to Foggy, someone has to expose what’s being done here.” She whispered, drawing his gaze, making determination flash in her eyes. “No one else is stepping forward, no one else wants to deal with what has been going on – what’s really been going on, and so I need to. I need to help show what’s really happening in Hell’s Kitchen now that D-” Karen’s breath caught in her throat and she coughed, looking down and rolling her glass against the table. Both of them lapsed into an uneasy silence after her little tirade, knowing what was coming next. They always ended on the same note at the end of their nights together, she sighed.

Three months ago, Matt had disappeared from the city without a trace. His keys and cell phone were left on the counter – all of the missed calls and messages were from the both of them, his cane and glasses folded neatly on the dining room table. Foggy and Karen had practically turned his apartment inside out in their search for clues. The only thing they could discern was that the roof access to the apartment was unlocked and his Daredevil costume was nowhere to be found. Foggy thought that he might be recuperating somewhere, maybe with Claire, but when they called her she was in North Carolina and hadn’t seen nor heard from Matt. Foggy also suggested that maybe he had to leave his place for a while and remain in disguise, but all sightings of Daredevil had dried up and crime was on the rise. They refused to think the worst had happened, but Karen couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that remained wrapped around her.

“Anything?” Foggy asked, pouring himself the rest of the whiskey bottle. Karen chewed her lip, shaking her head. “I haven’t been able to unearth any clues whatsoever, and I don’t think I can dig any farther without getting into some sort of trouble… Frank hasn’t heard or seen anything either, at least not that he is telling me.” Foggy had finally accepted that Karen was working with Frank, agreeing that they needed all of the help they could get. She had been meeting with him almost every other week to see if he had any insight as to where Matt might be. Sure, he was still on his righteous vengeance kick, but his targets were running low, so he had started to fight crime on the side. When he felt like it at least. Without Daredevil, it seemed that the city was once again slipping into heightened corruption and unnecessary violence. 

Foggy nodded and downed the rest of his drink in one big gulp, grimacing afterwards. “You think I would drink better stuff now that I have a better job… Old habits I guess.” He shrugged, standing from the table and grabbing his blazer from the back of the chair, folding it over his arm. She joined him, retrieving her purse and slinging the strap over her shoulder. They exited the bar together into the still humid night, the sounds of the awakening nightlife clogging the air around them. Karen hugged Foggy goodbye, and he squeezed her extra tight before letting go, both of them turning and heading in opposite directions. 

\- 

“I’m home,” Karen said quietly, closing the door behind her and locking it. She picked up the mail from the floor, hung her purse on a hook and toed off her shoes, leaving them under the bench before walking into the living room. Her eyes roamed the area, taking in every detail and looking for any disturbances. Not a thing was out of place. She sighed. 

Karen had moved into Matt’s apartment about a month after he went missing. She had started visiting regularly when no one had heard from him in a week – making a copy of the spare key that Foggy had. She kept the place clean, sorted through the mail so it would be ready for him when he came back – she even restocked his first aid kit, re-made his bed and did the laundry that was in his hamper. But after the three week mark and still no word from him, she had to choose between his place and her own. She could pay the rent and utilities of her own apartment, or she could pay the utilities of his – apparently his lease had been paid in full for the entire year. The choice seemed like a no-brainer, but her main reason for moving into Matt’s apartment was so that he would always have his home, ready and waiting, to come back to. 

She walked to the counter, putting the mail in the correct piles before continuing her trek around the space. She straightened out little things like the pillows on the couch and papers on the table, before gradually turning off the lights – she always left a few on before going to work so she wouldn’t come back to the dark. Karen slid the door open to the bedroom, letting the familiar heaviness settle in her heart at the sight of the empty room as she moved about, ghosting her hands over the bed. She pulled off her clothes, still slightly damp with sweat, and tossed them into the hamper on her way to the bathroom. She opted for a quick shower, rinsing the heat and stress of the day down the drain. 

\- 

Karen wrapped her hair up in a towel before getting dressed for bed, pulling on some pajama shorts and grabbing one of Matt’s old shirts from his dresser. She closed her eyes and pressed it to her nose before pulling it over her head. It had become a nightly ritual/obsession ever since she moved into his apartment after his disappearance. At first she was satisfied wrapping herself in his sheets, the scent of him still occupying the fabric, but when it had faded away, she grudgingly washed them and progressed on to his shirts. If she was lucky, a shirt would comfort her for about a week before losing its Matt-ness, and she would be forced to grab another. At this rate, she would have to start sleeping in the dresser drawers themselves until the traces of him were gone from the wood as well. Karen knew that it was sad, not to mention a little bit crazy, but she refused to believe that Matt was really gone forever, and she would continue to hold onto him any way that she could. 

She re-hung the towel on the rack, combed out her damp hair and brushed her teeth before heading back to the bedroom. She plugged her phone into its charger and crawled into bed, flopping back onto the pillows, suddenly exhausted. Karen reached over and turned on the alarm clock radio’s sleep setting and smooth jazz began softly emitting from the speakers, filling up the silence. She rolled to her side away from glow of the electronic billboard coming through the living room windows and clutched Matt’s pillow to her chest, slowly drifting to sleep. 

-

A loud bang startled Karen awake, her body shooting straight up from the mattress. Her eyes were wide with panic, as she reached for her phone on the nightstand. She unplugged and switched it to vibrate before unlocking it and calling Foggy, her heart in her throat. He picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hullo?” his voice was groggy with sleep. 

“Foggy,” she whispered, “Foggy, it’s Karen.” She slid off the bed, keeping to the shadows and walking slowly to the doorway. 

“Karen?” he yawned, “what’s up?”

“Foggy, there’s someone here.” Her revelation was interrupted by another bang and thump, making her jump and almost drop the phone. 

“What?” he said sharply, suddenly alert. 

“There’s someone in the apartment Foggy, I don’t know what to do I-“ She peered around the door and saw that one of the armchairs was turned over on its side and there was the shape of someone on the floor next to it, unmoving. 

“Karen, listen to me, you need to leave. You need to get out of there.” Karen heard rustling on the other end of the line and assumed that Foggy was getting dressed. She reached out and picked up the baseball bat she kept next to the nightstand. She didn’t take her eyes off of the body lying in the living room as she edged out of the bedroom, slowly creeping towards it.

“Karen, what are you doing? Have you left? I’m coming over to get you, do you hear me?” Foggy’s voice got louder with every question, the jangling of keys punctuating his statements. She edged closer to the figure just as the living room was flooded with brilliant white light from an ad on the electronic billboard. 

The phone and baseball bat slipped from her grip, crashing to the floor. 

“…Matt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So me posting a chaptered story is a pretty big deal/challenge - I have a history of not finishing them (just being honest here). I'm also leaving in March for a 3 week vacation in Australia, so there's that.


	2. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have said earlier that I’m following the Netflix timeline as far as who knows Matt is Daredevil. Technically he told Karen in the finale of season 2 soo… (and they have reconciled because she loves him) Also, a big shout out to Erin Sully on youtube, I don't know who she is, but her Karen + Matt video 'Blue' gave me ALL THE FEELS (this chapter is named after it - you should go watch)

Karen scrambled to the floor, wrenching the phone to her ear. “Foggy, Foggy, oh my god. It’s Matt, oh my god Foggy, it’s Matt!” she babbled into the receiver, tears threatening to overtake her voice. She rushed over to his prone form, dropping to his side, afraid to touch him. Matt was lying on his back, his breathing heavy and labored. The black shirt and pants he was wearing were filthy, torn and splotched with what looked like blood, both old and new. He wasn’t wearing shoes. The billboard flashed brightly again, and that’s when she saw his face was not just covered in dirt, but bright red blood. 

“He’s hurt Foggy, he’s- oh god.“ Her voice cracked as the tears finally came, making her sob into the mouthpiece. “I’ll be right there Karen,” his voice was frantic, “I’ll be right there.” He hung up on her and she nodded even though he couldn’t see. She took a deep breath, trying to settle her increasing terror, and put the phone down. She focused on the jerky movement of Matt’s chest at he breathed, his eyes were shut tight in pain, his face a grimace. 

“Matt?” She murmured, shakily reaching out to him, her fingers settling on his arm. He violently jerked away from her, his eyes flying open as he backed himself against the couch, panting. “Matt, it’s Karen, can you hear me?” she moved towards him, reaching out again but stopping when he curled in on himself, his whole body shaking. “Matt?” He pressed his hands over his ears, his body rocking back and forth. Fresh tears started tracking down her cheeks as she pushed closer to him, reaching out again and touching his shoulder. He whimpered. 

“Matt, it’s Karen. C-can you tell me where it hurts? Please… just tell me what’s wrong.” His shaking was so fierce it rattled her arm. “Matt please…” her voice was broken by a sob, tears seeping into the collar of her shirt, “please tell me…” He groaned, pressing his hands against his ears even harder. “Go away,” he croaked, his voice gritty and raw. “You’re not here… you’re not real… go away…” 

“Wh…” She stared at him in confusion, what was going on? She lightly increased her grip on his shoulder, smoothing her fingers down his arm, “Of course I’m here Matt, I don’t underst-“

“No you’re not… you’re not!” Matt wrenched his hands away from his ears, shoving at her to get away from him. Karen sat back in astonishment as he panted, pushing his body up to lean back against the couch, his eyes frenzied. “He ki-… he killed you… right… right in front of me,” he gasped, a slight wheeze to his breath. “You’re not here… I’m imagining you again… You’re not real….” He was crying now too, his tears leaving fresh trails down the grime on his face, his chest heaving. Karen put a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs, her heart clenching painfully in her chest. Where had he been all this time, and more importantly, what had been done to him? Who had been killed? 

“I’m real,” she whispered, reaching for him again. Matt tried shoving her away, but his energy was waning, he could barely hold his arms off of the ground. “I’m real… I promise I am, I’m real.” She crept forward, rising up onto her knees and bringing Matt’s head against her chest, his ear level with her erratic heartbeat, she cradled him with her arms. “The night… The night we first met, I was in trouble and you… Do you remember? You let me stay with you because I was scared.” She sniffled and he started crying harder, trying vehemently to shake his head. “I made my grandmother’s lasagna for you and Foggy…” Matt choked on a sob, moving his arm and touching Karen’s leg hesitantly, as if she would disappear with the brush of his fingers. “I gave you a balloon,” she murmured, “It had a monkey on it.” His breathing started to calm down, and his head began to lean into her.

“I-I walked you home in the pouring rain… After a night at Josie’s with Foggy. I helped you play pool… We went to a restaurant for dinner. It had chili pepper lights on the ceiling… it was magic.” His hand violently clamped down on her leg and he ripped his head away from her embrace, his eyes wide, searching. His nostrils flared and he breathed deeply, starting to shake again as his grip grew even tighter against her skin. “Karen?” She burst into fresh tears and leaned forward grabbing him again, “Yes, yes Matt it’s me. I’m here, it’s me. I’m real,” she blubbered, burying her face into his hair. He released her leg and wrapped his arms up around her back, crushing himself to her body. 

-

The front doorknob rattled. There was a muttered curse before keys jangled and the door swung open, Foggy rushing across the threshold. He flipped light switches as he went, brightening the apartment’s dark corners before he stopped dead in the living room, his mouth opening in shock. Karen was on the floor by the couch holding Matt against her chest and rocking him back and forth, both of them smeared with filth and crying in earnest. “Holy shit.” Foggy stumbled sideways and sat down in the armchair, bracing his hands against the armrests, “Holy shit.” 

-

Matt had eventually cried himself to complete exhaustion, passing out in Karen’s lap, his hands still clutching at her desperately. She was drained, both physically and emotionally, and Foggy wasn’t far behind. His features were reserved, his hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times and he had started pacing to the kitchen and back. It was four in the morning and neither of them knew what to do next. Matt was obviously hurt, to what extent they didn’t know, but it’s not like they could just walk him into a hospital. There would be too many questions that they didn’t have the answers for, not to mention that whoever did this to him might still be out there. As far as Foggy was concerned, their current situation was completely and totally screwed. 

“Hey Foggy?” Karen’s voice was soft, detached. “Yeah,” his voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat, “Yeah Karen?” He stopped to look at her and flinched. There was dirt and blood smeared all over her shirt and legs, there was even some on her face. Her hair was tangled around her shoulders, and her eyes were red and raw from crying. “Do you think…? Do you think the next time you go towards the kitchen, you could make some coffee?” He snorted out a half-hearted laugh and the corner of her mouth twitched up, attempting a smile. “Yeah, yeah of course. Sure.” He walked back into the kitchen, eager to do something to keep his mind occupied.

-

Matt gasped awake, startling Karen as his hands violently clenched her shirt. “It’s alright,” Karen assured him, rubbing his arm gently. The scent of milk and lavender hit his nose, overpowering the sour stink of blood and sweat that surrounded him. “Karen?” his voice was cracked and raw, his body tense. “Yeah it’s me, I’m here.” He strained to push himself up, his face a constant wince as he leaned back against the couch. He kept one hand tangled in the fabric on Karen’s side, his knuckles resting against her skin. A blend of orange and cinnamon crept to him and his head stopped swimming long enough for him to pick up another heartbeat, strong and slow “Foggy?”

“He’s here. He’s asleep, but he’s here.” Karen murmured. Foggy was once again seated in an armchair, a mug of cold coffee by his feet. Even though he had gone through three cups, it wasn’t enough to keep him awake and he was knocked out, his head angled uncomfortably against the back of the chair. Matt’s features slowly relaxed, the tension seeming to melt away from his limbs. His whole body was stiff and his head ached something fierce, a harsh pain radiating up his side every time he took a breath – broken ribs most likely. He felt the grit that coated his skin and tasted the metallic tinge of blood on his tongue along with the dry scrape of dirt. He felt disgusting.

Matt grunted as he shifted his body again, his hand loosening its death grip on Karen’s shirt, coming to rest against her leg instead. “Can you help me to the shower?” he kept his voice low as to not disturb Foggy and a familiar stinging gathered behind Karen’s eyes - she felt like crying all over again. She swallowed thickly and nodded her head before whispering out a watery “Ok.”

-

Moving was complete agony. Matt had to have Karen stop twice on the way to the bathroom because he felt like he was going to pass out. She took it all in stride, silently accepting his weight as he leaned on her for support while he caught his breath. And now, leaning against the outside of the shower with his hand loosely wrapped around her wrist, he was exhausted. “I don’t… I don’t think I can do this,” he admitted weakly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Okay, that’s okay,” she reassured him. “How about I grab a chair for you and…” Anxiety lanced through Matt as she began to pull away from him and he tightened his grip on her wrist. She stopped and looked at him questioningly. “I um… I’m sorry I don’t… I…” He squeezed her wrist again before loosening his hold, his fingers tracing down her hand. “No, no it’s okay… it’s…” she saw the apprehension on his face, “How about I talk to you while I go get the chair?” she suggested gently, squeezing his fingers, he nodded, reluctantly letting his hand fall to his side.

“Foggy made coffee earlier… “ She left Matt and walked into the bedroom. “It was horrible. I don’t really think he actually knows how to make coffee…” Luckily, when she moved her meager possessions into the apartment, she had placed her one dining room chair in the bedroom because it didn’t match the two that Matt already had. “He acts like he knows what he’s doing… I guess confidence is key.” At least the chair was light and she easily picked it up, heading back towards the bathroom. “But still it was horrible… I’m pretty sure that’s why he just buys his coffee all the time.” She re-entered the bathroom right at the end of her little commentary and set the chair in the shower. He immediately reached for her, and she noticed that his hand was shaking as it came to rest against her waist. 

Karen reached out with her leg and gently nudged the bathroom door closed before leaning into the shower and starting the water, allowing it to warm up. She turned to Matt, intending to help him take his clothes off, yet when she began to pull his shirt up he hissed, and she noticed that the fabric was sticking to his back. His blood had dried the material to one of his wounds. “You can… we’ll just take this off in the shower, okay?” There was no question that she needed to help him get through this, and he nodded in agreement. His pants were much more agreeable, falling from his hips as soon as Matt had unbuttoned them, leaving him in his boxer briefs – his legs filthy. 

When the water was warm enough, Karen pulled the detachable showerhead down and let it hang from its hose as she led Matt to the chair and sat him down, his hand coming up to clasp securely against her leg. She stood in front of him and started the water at his feet, letting him get used to the temperature before she continued up his legs to his chest, and then finally to his hair. Once she was sure that his shirt was soaked through she dropped the nozzle and slowly lifted the material away from Matt’s body. He choked in pain when he had to lift his arms, and “I’m sorry’s” fell from Karen’s lips the entire time. He let out a groan once he was finally free from the sodden cloth and Karen let out a groan of her own at the sight of his torso. He was covered in hateful lacerations and bruises, there were more scars than she remembered, and his bones were more prominent – he had lost a considerable amount of weight. 

Karen swallowed back her trepidation and handed Matt the showerhead, proceeding to lather up a washcloth before dragging it across his shoulders. He closed his eyes as the heavy, steady beat of her heart soothed his senses while she carefully cleansed his skin, ghosting lightly over his most recent cuts and scrapes. She was the most gentle on his face, softly wiping the cloth along his quiet features before taking the nozzle from him and gingerly rinsing all of the suds away. The shampoo was next and she tilted his face up to her as she massaged the gel into his hair, her fingernails grazing his scalp. She shielded her hand against his forehead when she rinsed so the shampoo wouldn’t get near his eyes, then set the showerhead back on its holder, letting the water to wash over the both of them. 

Matt opened his eyes as Karen trailed her fingers over his face, her touch feather light as she brushed against a plum-colored bruise on his cheek before coming to rest against the gash on his lip. The scent of tears permeated the room as she leaned down and kissed him, her mouth delicate against his own until he pulled her firmly to him, his arms wrapping possessively around her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up cutting a huge scene with Sergeant Mahoney and an OC doctor because I couldn’t figure out how to make it work – writing is hard. Mahoney will come in to play later though, I promise. I also feel that I’m going too slow, but maybe because I like a lot of detail? Plus, how could I pass up on a shower scene? And just a reminder, I will be out of the country for 3 weeks, so there probably won't be another chapter until the first week of April.


	3. Black Flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from Australia!  
> Chapter inspired by Black Flies by Ben Howard - yet another song used in a great Matt/Karen YouTube video.

Foggy was waiting for Karen as she emerged from the bedroom, slowly rolling the door closed behind her. He was seated on the couch, legs crossed, with a peeved look on his face. “Thanks for letting me fall asleep in the most uncomfortable position possible,” he grumbled, “My neck is going to hurt for like a week.” She looked at him sheepishly, tugging at the tattered sleeve of her – Matt’s – sweater “I’m sorry,” she flushed, heading into the kitchen. “How about I make you breakfast to make up for it?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, giving her a smug look, “As long as it’s Belgian waffles with maple syrup and whipped cream… fresh fruit… bacon…” Karen peered in the fridge, taking stock of what she had on-hand. “How about… eggs and toast?” Foggy looked at her skeptically, “I guess I could settle… But I want these oranges freshly squeezed” he decreed, referring to her fruit bowl. She smiled at him, grateful for the playful banter despite everything that had happened that morning, but she knew that eventually they would have to address the elephant in the room.

Foggy was having similar thoughts as he sat down at the dining room table and quietly observed her moving about the kitchen, noting the obvious change in her attitude. Already she seemed more poised, her back straight, steps light and airy. He fiddled with the oranges in the bowl, taking them out and rolling them around between his hands on the table. The burden had lifted from his shoulders as well, now that Matt was back, but he feared that something darker would soon come to take its place. Daredevil had been gone from the city for too long, and the way things were looking right now, he wouldn’t be back for a while still.

Looming chaos.

That had a nice ring to it.

-

Earlier, after Karen and Matt had finished in the shower, she did her best to dry him and dress his wounds. Karen was grateful that she had re-stocked the first aid kit to bursting while he had been gone. Most of his lacerations had scabbed over and just needed some antibiotic ointment and a fresh gauze pad, others, like the few on his back, required stitches but the best she could do was butterfly sutures. There was nothing she could do about the bruising except maybe offer him some ice. She helped him put on a fresh pair of boxer-briefs, sweatpants and his softest hoodie before getting him settled on the bed and changing into clean clothes of her own, murmuring to him as she went. By the time she had finished towel-drying and combing out her hair, he was already fast asleep, his arm outstretched towards her.

-

The coffee was definitely much better the second time around, when Karen had been the one to make it – Foggy didn’t need nearly as much sugar to actually drink the stuff. They ate mostly in silence, the gravity of the morning having finally settled around them, thickening the air. Both were at a loss as to what to do next. Matt was in obvious need of medical attention, at least just to make sure that there wasn’t anything too serious going on with him. He should be checked for a concussion or even internal bleeding, not to mention the stitching up he could use. But they both knew that taking him to a hospital was going to be impossible, and they were desperate for an alternate solution. Karen was the first one to break the silence, “Do you think Claire would be willing to come up to have a look at him?” She glanced across to Foggy as she pushed some eggs around on her plate.

He shrugged, ripping chunks from his toast and dropping them onto his plate to mix with the eggs. Neither of them had really eaten all that much, maybe a few bites here and there to occupy their thoughts. Both had gone through two cups of coffee though, the caffeine apparently much easier to consume. “It’s a bit of a long shot…” he finally commented, looking up at her. “Not to mention a long way for her to come, but we could always give her a call – see what she says. Maybe she has a friend here or something who could help us out…” Karen hummed her agreement, staring blankly at her untouched glass of orange juice. Even though she was immensely relieved that Matt was back, his return had opened up an entirely different can of worms.

-

_The sudden cascade of icy water jolted Matt awake, all of his senses coming alive in a jumbled heap. He tried lifting his head up away from the spill, but an excruciating lance of pain jolted through him instead. He held back a groan, forcing his body to relax as air hissed through his clenched teeth. “Time to wake-up sleeping beauty,” a grating voice taunted him as something prodded his side. “We’ve found something you might be interested in… or should I say someone?” His side was jabbed again, harder this time and he grunted as he was shoved against the wall and made to sit up, much to the amusement of his captor who let out a snicker. The sound of a struggle entered the room as feet scraped against the floor, scrambling for purchase. Matt could hear muffled groaning and a frantic heartbeat, strong, yet fluttering rapidly. He tried focusing his awareness, smoothing his senses to get a feel of the person, but the jagged throb in his head made it impossible to ‘see’ anything other than a continuous red pulse of anguish._

_“We found her sniffing around outside… Such a curious little mouse.” There was a thump as she was shoved to the ground, landing on her knees a few feet in front of Matt, disturbing the air. The scent of honeyed lavender slowly drifted to his nose, and frigid terror began to gnaw at his stomach and up his throat. Karen smelled like lavender…_

_Trepidation began to creep into his mind, questions forming in rapid succession. How long had he been here? Had anyone been looking for him? Was she the first one to make it this far? How did this woman even get here? Why was she looking around the building? Unless… The immense dread building in his gut overrode the physical pain, affronting him some clarity. He sensed a total of five heartbeats, four of which were calm and steady, the one belonging to the woman still hammering in overdrive. It made her stand out, bright with the rush of blood through her veins, and his panic only increased further. Her hands were bound in front of her and she had the same build, the lavender scent… Even the same facial features as…_

_Matt launched himself forward, adrenaline surging through his body as he reached out to grab his captor around the throat. His fingertips had barely brushed against skin before a kick snapped his head to the side, his senses blazing white in agony as he crashed to the ground, a metallic tang coating his tongue. The force of the blow had caused him to bite a chunk out of his cheek. He had been careless, he had stopped keeping track of the heartbeats, so the other guy had come out of nowhere. Matt lay there dazedly, the screaming of his head freshly renewed as blood leaked from his mouth to the floor. He heard Karen-no. The woman. This couldn’t be Karen- start to cry, the gag exaggerating her sobs._

_“So you’ve got a weakness for pretty women huh?” the man chuckled, “Can’t say that I blame you, this one is rather good looking… so feminine and so soft too.” Matt heard her whimper in distress as the man yanked her head back, rubbing his face against her cheek. Rage started to seep over him, mingling with the ever-present fear as the man ran his hands down the front of her shirt before aggressively tearing the material open. She jumped and started to struggle as he goadingly brought a hand to the column of her throat, the other resting on her chest. She groaned in obvious discomfort._

_“Such pretty skin…” the man drawled, dragging the hand on her chest deliberately across her breast and giving it a provoking squeeze before moving around to her back. “Such potential…” the perversion in his voice made Matt’s skin crawl as he struggled onto his side, his head pounding in agony. There had to be something he could do, some way he could get them out of this hell of a situation. “It really is such a shame…” Before Matt could even process what was happening, a blade burst from the center of woman’s chest. They both gasped in shock as the weapon was removed and she was pitched forward, her body making a sickening thud as it collapsed to the ground._

_On no._

_“Oops… I guess that’s what she gets for sneaking around like that. Gotta get rid of pests you know, especially rodents…” the man shrugged, chuckling as he turned to leave the room, his followers not far behind, the last one slamming the door behind them. Matt frantically dragged himself to her, the sharp stench of blood filling his nostrils as his hands fumbled to press over the wound. She whimpered softly at his touch, the sound barely audible against the gag, yet she made no attempt to move away. His stomach rolled as warm blood pumped sluggishly through his fingers._

_The metal had been stabbed right above her heart, and he could feel the organ starting to fail. Her heartbeats were becoming weaker and weaker, and amid his increasing panic, the familiar tinge of lavender and honey floated to him again. He reached up and carefully removed the material from her mouth._

_“Karen?” He questioned, his voice strained. There was no way this was her, it wasn’t possible… Yet when her head turned in his direction, his heart faltered. She choked on a breath, blood bubbling from her lips as she tried to speak. The blade had punctured her lung, he could feel as well as hear the gurgling when she breathed. This woman was drowning and bleeding out all at once, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it._

_Matt sat there helplessly, almost in a trance, as she wheezed for breath, blood oozing gently from her chest. Her heartbeats had become impossibly slow, pulsing feebly every few seconds, the gaps in time growing bigger and bigger. His mind was racing, searching for any possible solution, yet every idea was a dead end. He had no supplies to even attempt to fix her, and she needed major surgery. He didn’t even have any official medical training, what she needed was a hospital. She needed a sterile environment. She needed professionals to help her. She… wasn’t breathing._

_Oh no, no, no._

_He pressed his hands harder against her in desperation, wildly searching for a heartbeat, for some sign of consciousness. The delusional part of his brain convincing him that he must be wrong, certainly she was still alive, she was just so weak that he couldn’t hear anything… couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t have just died… She... He couldn’t tell if the blood beneath his fingers was still freshly flowing or if it had ceased completely, there was just too much of it. Anxiety flooded his mind as he sat there in silence, straining to hear something, to feel something – anything, to show that she was still alive. That she hadn’t just…_

_He made a choking noise as he brought a shaking hand up to rest against her cheek, her skin already cooling beneath his fingers. He didn’t feel anything. No twitch of breath, no flow of blood, no possible flutter of life at all against his palms. He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat before moving his hand up to feel the fine bones of her face; the ridges of her eyebrows, the elegant slope of her nose, the familiar pout of her lips. This couldn’t be… She couldn’t be…_

-

An agonized scream pierced the apartment, startling both Karen and Foggy, the latter knocking his coffee cup off the table. Karen was up and half-way to Matt’s bedroom, her legs moving double-time, before the mug ended up breaking into chunks as it hit the floor. She flung the door aside, almost derailing it from its track, as she rushed to Matt’s side. His body was taught as a bowstring, arching painfully off the bed, as his hands clenched the sheets in a death grip. He was still yelling.

“Matt… Matt!” Karen approached him tentatively, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, “What is it?.. Matt! What’s wrong?!” She shook him when he still didn’t respond, then she shook him harder and harder until his whole body jolted as if he had been shocked into awareness with electricity.

“Karen?!” He pulled at her violently, dragging her body over his own as he positioned her anxious heartbeat against his ear. He was hyperventilating, his breath coming out in choked rasps as the scent of milk and lavender enveloped him, blanketing his senses. He jerked again.

Milk.

Karen smelled like milk and lavender. Not honey. It was milk. It was Karen. He tried to take in deeper breaths in an attempt to calm himself, his chest shuddering. He gradually eased his hold against her body as her heart still beat loud and strong against him. She was here. She was alive.

Karen took Matt’s apparent panic attack with a forced calm, remaining pliant against him as his anxiety lessened. The pounding of her heart and the worry in her eyes the only things giving her concern for him away. Foggy stood helplessly in the doorway as Matt hugged Karen with shaking limbs, his body heaving in fear. Foggy noticed that Matt’s sweater was hanging open on the side and he winced as he saw the various shades of purple and red blossoming across the exposed skin. Matt looked even worse to him now that he was clean, the grime having hidden most of the damage. Shit.

-

The phone rang six times before the line connected, “Sergeant Mahoney.” All business, all the time, per usual. “Brett? Brett, it’s me Foggy.”

“Man,” the Sergeant tisked, “What have I told you about calling me by my first name?“ he scolded, grumbling under his breath. “I know, I know, I’m sorry Sergeant,” Foggy emphasized, “But I need your help, it’s Matt.” The Sergeant sighed then cleared his throat, “I know you’re worried, but we still haven’t heard anyth-“

“No, no, he’s here,” Foggy interrupted, glancing towards the bedroom as he paced in the kitchen. “He’s back Br- Sergeant Mahoney. He came back to his apartment. But he’s been hurt really bad, and I think… I think we might have some even bigger problems coming.” The revelation made the Sergeant shift gears, his voice becoming serious. “How bad is he hurt? Do you need an ambulance? I can send over an ambulance right aw-“

“No,” Foggy interrupted the Sergeant again, “I’m sorry I just… I think whoever did this, whoever hurt him is probably looking for him,” He let the information and the implications sink in before continuing, “I think he escaped… From wherever he was, and I’m not sure what to do.” There was a palpable tension over the line as Mahoney cleared his throat again, “…I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks Brett… I mean, Sergeant Mahoney. I really owe you one.” Foggy’s voice was tinged with relief.

“It’s alright man, I’ll see you soon.”

-

Sergeant Mahoney’s mouth hung open in shock. Karen Page was curled protectively around a very battered and bruised Matt Murdock, both of them sound asleep. Foggy quietly cleared his throat and gestured towards the living room before sliding the bedroom door closed as softly as possible. Suspicion was plastered all over the Sergeant’s face as he sat on the couch, steepling his fingers in front of him. “What the fuck is going on Nelson? He’s been missing for months and then all of a sudden shows up looking like hell. Why would someone want to hurt Matt Murdock of all people? He’s blind!”

“I don’t know man, I don’t…” Foggy stared back helplessly, his posture defeated. He ran a hand through his hair, “One minute I’m sleeping, the next Karen is calling me because someone broke into the apartment, and then it turns out… it turns out to be Matt. I got over here as fast as I could, and when I saw him…” he shook his head, “When I saw him, I almost freaked out. Maybe… Maybe it was someone he put in jail?” Foggy was struggling, grasping desperately at straws. As far as he knew, only he and Karen knew about Matt’s nighttime activities, and he already thought that was dangerous enough. He wasn’t about to bring in yet another person for Matt to have to worry about. He threw up his hands in defeat. “I don’t know for sure… All I know is that something really bad happened to him while he was missing, Brett, something horrible… And I don’t… I don’t know what to do next.”

Mahoney’s eyes were grave, but he nodded, apparently accepting the meager explanation. “I can get someone to look into his past cases, see if anyone he helped put away has been paroled in the last six months… Has he said anything? How long has he even been here?”

“He’s been here since 4am maybe?” They both looked at their watches, it was 8:30am now. “He’s barely said anything at all - been sleeping mostly, and when he does wake up he flips out every time. It’s like…” Foggy took a breath. “It’s like he’s still there.” The sergeant hummed in thought.

What a way to start the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this took so long you guys – I struggled to write some of this, I don’t know why. Australia messed up my brain (vacation mode must still be on), and I have yet to get back into the swing of things. I am also gonna try to get this story moving a bit faster - A 3 chapter build up is a bit much I think.


	4. We Sink

Ms. Waraniak stood on her roof staring down at the bottom of the pigeon hutch in utter confusion. Dead. All eight of her birds were lying there dead. What was going on here? At first she suspected some sort of bird disease had gotten to them, but the doves across the way were just fine, happily cooing at her. Then she thought that maybe a rat had gotten into the cage, but there was no sign of any struggle - no blood or torn feathers, and their eggs were still intact. How could all of her birds have just up and died like this?

Against her better judgment she opened the cage and pulled out her favorite one, Bosco, carefully cradling his limp form in her hand. He was the very best of the bunch: always happy to see her, never pushy or snippy when it came to feeding time, he even responded to his name. She sighed wearily, petting his back softly before reaching around to stroke his front – he always liked that. But when she brushed over his chest she felt a small pointed lump sticking out. What in the world? It was a bit sharp and seemed to be made of… metal? She squeezed the tips of her fingers around the foreign object and pulled… and out came a sewing needle.

She dropped it in shock, the tiny spike getting lost in the gravel beneath her feet. How had… She turned Bosco over and moved his feathers aside so she could study his chest. There was a single small hole right above the beginning of his breastbone, surrounded by the smallest amount of blood. Had someone… shot this at him? She moved back to the cage and set him down before pulling out another bird – Wanda – and feeling her chest. A wave of nausea hit her as she found the end of yet another needle in the exact same spot. Ms. Waraniak checked each pigeon with growing revulsion as she continued to discover the pins in the exact same place on each of their chests. She was horrified. Why would someone do something like this?

-

The little plastic magenta pterodactyl bounced as it landed on the carpet, having been knocked spitefully off the desk by the orange brontosaurus. Phil – said brontosaurus, was held up high for a victory cheer, having finally defeated Susan – said pterodactyl, before Foggy leaned down and scooped up the figurine, placing it back on his desk. He studied the two of them, feeling the small ridges and grooves of their shapes as he let his mind wander.

Returning to work after everything that had happened over the weekend had been… difficult. On the one hand, he had wanted to call in, to stay with Matt and Karen in the protective bubble that they had created in the apartment. Yet on the other hand, he had clients and co-workers who were relying on and needed him to be there. Even though it felt like the world had come grinding to a halt when he saw Matt crumpled on the floor that night, he was determined to try and keep things as normal as possible for everyone. Plus, Karen was able to stay with Matt and work remotely because she was having a “family emergency.” Nothing could have been truer. He sighed and knocked the pterodactyl back into his desk drawer, letting it fall onto his latest case closed file.

Earlier that day, after not even an hour of jury deliberation, Mrs. Erazo had been declared not guilty by means of self-defense. She had started crying when the foreman read out the verdict, reaching for Foggy and pulling him into a shocked yet grateful hug. The entire duration of the case she had been convinced that no one would believe her, that she would be painted as some gold-digging jezebel due to her short marriage, but Foggy had refuted each and every one of the prosecutor’s jabs. Having all of that official evidence of her past abuse and hospitalizations didn’t hurt either. The bottom line was that her husband was complete and utter trash, no matter how much money he had given to charity or how many benefit galas he had attended, and Foggy was glad that the jury had seen through the prosecutor’s “upstanding citizen” claims. Now, if only the mystery surrounding Matt’s disappearance/reappearance could be so easy.

Matt had developed a fever and was in and out of a delirium for most of the weekend, eating very little food, drinking copious amounts of water, then going right back to sleep. They hadn’t been able to get a hold of Claire on the phone, but Sergeant Mahoney had a discreet friend who happened to be a doctor, and he was able to come over to check Matt out. The guy had held his composure pretty well at the sight of Matt’s wrecked body, when all Foggy wanted to do was throw up as soon as Matt had taken off his clothes. He looked like he had been run over by a truck – multiple times. All of the cuts and bruises and… Foggy could feel his gut churning just thinking about it again, and he gripped the miniature brontosaurus harder to pull himself from the memory.

Dr. Dave’s diagnosis? Broken and cracked ribs on both sides, a right shoulder that was dislocated at some point, broken pinky and ring finger on the left hand, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. The doctor did the best that he could without the use of hospital equipment, but he strongly suggested a visit to check for any other broken or fractured bones that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. The only good news seemed to be that there were no internal injuries, at least that Dr. Dave could feel through palpations. In the end, Matt had to get 47 stitches total, a splint for his fingers, he was declared malnourished and significantly underweight, there was evidence that he had sustained head trauma – probably due to several concussions, and he was most likely battling an infection which resulted in his fever. So needless to say, it wasn’t like they could just ask Matt what had happened while he was in his current state. And even though Mahoney had fulfilled his promise to look through Matt’s old cases, even going back to the very beginning, he still came up with nothing.

After Nelson and Murdock had disbanded, Matt had gotten a part-time job with the District Attorney’s office and had helped put away quite a few people before he up and vanished into thin air. Their office had been the first Foggy had called when Matt had gone missing, to try and get any leads concerning his cases and the potential fallout from them. Now that hadn’t been an easy conversation to have – No he wasn’t sure where Matt had gone, yes he had been to check his apartment, no Matt wasn’t known to do this, yes he would contact them if he heard anything… Well, that last one had turned out to be a lie, he wasn’t about to call them now, but oh well. Foggy had been convinced that there had to have been a few guys who would want to get revenge, but when Brett found that none of Matt’s clients were even close to being eligible for parole any time soon, that theory went right down the drain. Foggy sighed before rooting around his desk drawer to pull out Bernard – the red tyrannosaurus, stomping him out onto the scene, ready to challenge the new champ.

-

Matt twitched awake, his hands clenching the sheets as the ghost of a headache briefly passed over his senses. The creep of anxiety began gnawing at his chest, sparking against his nerves until he picked up a familiar heartbeat pulsing calmly next to him. “Hey,” Karen greeted softly, her hand finding his back. He could hear the fan of her laptop whirring quietly to his left and his unease ebbed. His body gradually relaxed as he carefully moved his hand from beneath the pillow to rest against her side, reaffirming her presence. She reached up and smoothed her palm against his forehead, checking the temperature of his skin. Matt’s fever had broken sometime during the night, and she was keeping a close watch to make sure that it didn’t come back. He had been sleeping on his stomach, his face pressed into the pillow, so he was a little warm but nothing too alarming. She checked the clock on her laptop and noted that it wasn’t yet time for his next dose of antibiotics, he still had about two hours to go.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat, or maybe some water?” Matt toyed with the fabric of her shirt briefly, before slowly shaking his head no. She ran her fingers up through his hair, earning an appreciative hum as he relaxed even further into the mattress. Even though he had just woken up for what must have been the umpteenth time, all he wanted to do was go right back to sleep. He was still completely exhausted, his body heavy with the pain and fatigue of his healing injuries. It felt like recovering from his battle with Nobu all over again, but twice as intense. The white noise of Karen’s laptop fan and the steady beat of her heart began to lull his mind, and he drowsily turned his face back into the pillow, once again drifting to sleep.

-

Karen watched Matt’s fingers sluggishly loosen their grip on her shirt then slide to the mattress as he faded back into unconsciousness. The touching and constant reassurance from her had become routine since his return. She learned the hard way that if she was not there whenever Matt woke up, he would lapse into a full blown panic attack. Not only had it happened during breakfast with Foggy, it happened again when she was in the kitchen making dinner and earlier that day when she was taking a shower. It was a telltale sign of PTSD, his muscles pulling taught as his mind seemed to flood with terror, and the time that he had screamed… The torment ripping itself from his throat was the stuff of nightmares. He seemed unable to retain the fact that he had escaped from wherever he had been, that she was here alive and well with him, and that they both weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. So, Karen had resorted to always being by Matt’s side or talking to herself when she had to go to a different room, sometimes even singing.

She threaded her hand through his hair once more before returning to her laptop, fingers resting lightly on the keys. The police had finally flushed out the perpetrator for the double murder in Hell’s Kitchen Park, and Ellison had forwarded her the information. It was her responsibility to write the follow up piece for tomorrow’s paper, and it was intended to be a headline article so she’d better make it a good one. Mr. David Wright Jr. had three prior convictions of armed robbery, and each time he had been released from jail early due to “good behavior.” The entire situation made Karen seethe with anger because this time he had finally pulled the trigger, and if he had still been in jail then none of this would have happened in the first place. He was a total scumbag, and now with all of the details about the case in hand, she couldn’t type fast enough to let all of New York know.

-

_Matt let out an agonized grunt as he was slammed back into the wall, his shoulders digging painfully into the concrete. His head was killing him, his vision remained a constant red wash of agony as he was shoved into the wall again. He couldn’t ‘see’ and his arms were bound in front of him, so he was unable to defend himself against the side blow that sent him crashing to the ground. “I can’t believe they call you the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, what a joke…” A booted foot angrily met his ribs and he curled in on himself, attempting to protect his already damaged torso, his body screaming in pain. “You’re just some wannabe loser parading around town in a Halloween costume.” Hands gripped either side of his mask and he struggled weakly to follow them, sitting up as the cowl was ripped from his head and tossed to the side, his eyes blinking reflexively. A hand reached out and gripped his chin roughly, turning his face to and fro. “Just as I thought… Average Joe decided to play pretend and get all dressed up… Yeah, some real hero you turned out to be. Didn’t even see me coming…” he was shoved away in disgust._

_He sat there in a daze, trying to get past the pain so he could discern some sort of clue as to where he was. He smelled the strong burn of bleach mixed with the familiar sting of gun powder in the air. He tilted his head in vain, trying to hear something other than the pounding of his pulse when, “Wait a minute… can you see me at all?” He was yanked roughly by the collar to his feet, the snapping of fingers in front of his face making him twitch. “Oh shit… Seriously? I didn’t even throw the Billy club all that hard…” Matt stood there on shaky legs as his captor grumbled to himself, pacing back and forth, the man finally stopping and placing a hand on Matt’s face, once again turning his head side to side. “I must have hit you in just the right spot, goddammit… Too damn accurate for my own good sometimes… Well, hopefully Fisk will pay for damaged goods…” Matt’s ears perked up at the mention of the Kingpin, but his curiosity was short lived as a fist connected with his gut, doubling him over. Another blow sent Matt crashing back to the ground, his head bouncing as darkness swallowed him whole._


	5. All We Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song ‘All We Do’ by Oh Wonder. It’s a great song – nice and mellow

After a week of being in bed, Matt had finally banked enough energy to actually stay awake for long periods of time, which in turn prompted him to get up and take a shower (with a little help from Karen and the chair of course). His stitches stung sharply at first as he washed away the sweat from his fever, but eventually he grew to appreciate the warm water pounding against his sore body. His cuts and bruises were taking their sweet time healing, the purples and blues transforming into reds and yellows as his bandage count dropped into the teens. His busted ribs however were on an entire different wavelength. He groaned as Karen wrapped the ACE bandage around his torso, even with barely any pressure on them, the ice packs pressed harshly into his still-healing bones. “I know, I’m sorry,” she murmured, continuing her slow pace around his ribcage until she reached the end of the material and secured it with the metal clips. The ice packs were always uncomfortable in the beginning. When Karen had applied them the very first time, he had involuntarily cried from the discomfort and could only endure it for about five minutes. But over time and repeated usages, Matt had built up a mild tolerance to the pressure, and he had to admit that although they were painful, they seemed to be helping.

He took a few calming breaths and leaned back against the wall as Karen moved like lightning, swapping out the bed sheets for a fresh set and fluffing up the pillows in record time. He exhaled harshly as he moved back up and onto the bed, coming to rest against the headboard. His body had begun shivering from the coldness secured against his skin, but Karen had already started piling blanket upon blanket on top of him. “You would make a good caregiver,” he quipped as she tucked the last of the blankets around him, encasing his body in a small mountain of linen. She huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, I’ll get on that, right after I win the Pulitzer,” she said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her laptop and crawled up on the bed next to him. “You never know,” he mumbled as he settled underneath the mound of fabric, the trembling coming less frequently as he finally started to warm up. She hummed thoughtfully as she turned on her computer, the familiar startup chime sounding through the speakers. There was a steady click-clack rhythm against the keyboard and a few touchpad clicks before actual music began to play, filling up the quiet of the room. Karen’s hand absently came up to smooth Matt’s hair as they both waited for the ice packs to thaw.  

-

Frank clicked the dial of his M24 sniper rifle scope one turn to the left, his eye refocusing on the non-descript van parked in the distance. He had been laying in the tall grass for about twenty minutes now, waiting for his target to make some sort of a damn move. The latest lead in the search for Red had brought him all the way up to Syracuse as he followed a drug cartel, but the trail had suddenly gone cold just yesterday, resulting in what he figured was yet another dead end. Not only that, the cell service upstate was complete shit, so it had been about two weeks since he had been able to call Karen to check in with any updates, or more precisely the lack thereof. Yet on the other hand, he had stumbled upon a few stragglers from the Irish mob that had been in hiding, and at least now he could get them taken care of. One of whom was Austin O’Kelley, the man who had finally gotten out of the van. O’Kelley probably thought that he had gotten lucky by not being in Hell’s Kitchen the day of Frank’s revenge. He thought wrong.

Inhale. Focus. Exhale. Pull the trigger.  

Frank watched indifferently as O’Kelley’s brains splattered against the side of the van, spraying the light blue paint with a gruesome red and pink burst. He continued to observe as men emerged from the other side of the van, first staring down at O’Kelley in shock then pulling out their own weapons, looking around for the source of the gunfire. His focus automatically shifted to the remaining men, his mind calculating the order in which to put them down. They were just standing there, no protection, not even attempting to get some sort of cover as they glanced around like wide-eyed idiots. This was almost too easy, like shooting fish in a barrel. Frank braced his elbows deeper into the dirt and blew out a long breath, lining up the first shot.

One batch, two batch, penny and dime.

-

“But Matt, I’m _really_ feeling this one, you could be a winner!” Foggy joked, as he tossed the fifth Publisher’s Clearing House letter onto the bag for recycling. Matt snorted before taking another bite of pizza and Karen chuckled, taking a sip of beer as she watched the two of them sort through the piles of Matt’s mail. Foggy had called earlier to check-in, like he had done every day since Matt’s arrival back home, and was elated to hear that Matt was actually up and somewhat mobile. Foggy was so excited in fact, that he decided to come over with an extra-large pizza from Matt’s favorite place and an entire case of his favorite beer to wash it all down. “Gotta put some meat back on those bones,” he stated matter-of-factly when Karen opened the door to the giant boxes, her eyes widening is surprise. And even when Karen reminded him that Matt shouldn’t be drinking because he was still on painkillers and antibiotics, Foggy just shrugged his shoulders and said that they would have plenty for later then. Nothing was going to rain on his parade, and even if it did, it seemed that he had brought an umbrella.

Foggy’s upbeat attitude had instantly brightened the apartment, his optimism chasing away the lingering somberness. Now that Matt was noticeably feeling better and on the mend, it was almost like old times when the three of them would go to Josie’s. Almost. No matter how much Foggy jested with Matt about some of the mail he had received – the Victoria’s Secret catalog being the best so far, everyone was still very conscious of what was said. Each one of them participating in a wary dance of words, skillfully avoiding any and all subjects concerning Matt’s disappearance, subsequent torture and escape. Karen wanted Matt to be the one to bring up the subject, and she figured he would talk about it when he was ready. Matt had been doing better as far as the panic attacks were concerned, and she didn’t want to be responsible for triggering another one. Foggy on the other hand was more focused on re-building his once-strained relationship with his best friend, he’d worry about the problems and details of the looming chaos later.

“I can’t believe they send all of this mail to someone who’s blind,” Foggy said, shuffling through the envelopes. Most of them were junk mail and advertisements, Karen had taken care of the bills when they first came in. “Don’t they get a notification or something or… Oh. Here Karen, this is one of yours.” He held out the envelope to her and Matt cocked his head questioningly to the side as he finished his second slice of pizza. Karen noticed the movement as she reached out and took the envelope, her heart ratcheting up so loud she was sure he could hear it. She had yet to tell him that she had moved in. Quite frankly it had slipped her mind, not to mention that she didn’t exactly know how to bring it up in the small conversations they’d had, but hello ice breaker. She was about to say something about it when Foggy burst out laughing, drawing both of their attention. Karen’s face flamed red when she noticed what Foggy was holding, and she gracefully finished her beer while averting her eyes.

“I didn’t know you had such… tastes Mr. Murdock,” Foggy teased, his voice taking on a scandalized tone. “What? What is it?” Matt asked, reaching out, his fingers batting against the pages of some sort of catalog, Foggy cleared his throat dramatically. “The Kink Factory… Ranked number one in the world’s leading BDSM supply stores.” Matt’s mouth opened in shock, the tips of his ears slowly turning pink, which only made Foggy laugh harder.

-  

Karen was busy wrapping up the leftover pizza in foil as Matt came and leaned carefully against the counter, his hands coming to rest against one of the many snack jars. He had been able to handle two-and-a-half slices before he couldn’t eat anymore, and Foggy had all but raced out the door when Matt had yawned, not wanting to make him overly tired. They had made dinner plans for the next night, going out to their favorite Thai restaurant if Matt felt up to it, staying in and ordering Chinese if he didn’t. It was amazing how easily they had fallen back into the comfort of their respective relationship roles, even if it was a bit forced due to all of the looming unanswered questions built up around them. Karen ducked into the fridge, putting the pizza away before starting on the few dishes, busying her hands with the sponge. “You know,” Matt murmured, “I wondered why I smelled your perfume everywhere,” a wistful look set on his face. She glanced up at him tentatively as she placed the plates in the drying rack, “You’re not… upset?” His expression softened at the wariness of her voice.

“Of course not, I’m glad you’re here. It’s made… I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here when I…” he took a deep breath, hesitating. “When I got back.” Karen rounded the bar and reached for his hand, pulling it from around the canister of pretzels and lacing their fingers together. “I’m glad I’m here too,” she squeezed his hand. “I mean, this place is a lot nicer than my old one, and it was already paid for so…” He smiled at her, shaking his head in mirth. It was still fairly early, the sun still hanging around outside, but she could tell that Matt was exhausted from all of the day’s activity. “C’mon,” she tugged him gently towards the bedroom. “I’ll read you the article I’m working on and you can tell me if it’s gonna get me that Pulitzer.”

-

Sergeant Mahoney pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation as a third officer rushed past him, heaving the contents of their stomach into an evidence bag as they went. Things were going downhill fast.

Earlier in the night, Mr. Raymond Avery and his “friend” Deborah Mills had been down at the docks “admiring the moon” when she slipped in something. It had leaked out from underneath one of the warehouse doors and they both thought nothing of it – water or grease most likely. Yet when they came underneath an overhead light, they saw that the bottom of Deborah’s high-heel was coated in a rusty coagulated red. Said shoe was now in an evidence bag, and pictures had already been taken of where the couple had stepped, as well as everything around the outside of the building. Upon opening the warehouse doors, Mahoney’s team was engulfed in a horrendous smell and the closest officer had turned and then abruptly vomited on the dock. A second officer had managed to make it to the dock’s edge before losing his dinner into the harbor. Mahoney had given everyone fifteen minutes to adjust and ready themselves, putting on the necessary plastic shoe covers and gloves before he made his way into the warehouse. It was like walking into a horror film, all shock and awe and permanent sense of unease.

There were five men strung up against the South wall, two by their hands, two by their feet, and the last unlucky one by all four limbs tied together. The coroner said that each one of them had bled out, and judging by the rather large pools of red beneath them, along with what had flowed to the door, he wasn’t too surprised. What did make his brain jump into overdrive were the weapons and other objects that had been used in the killings – each person had been slain in a different fashion. John Doe #1 was fairly generic, riddled with bullet holes from what appeared to be a .22 caliber gun. J. D. #2 had been stabbed to death, multiple blades still embedded in his flesh, some on the ground beneath him. J. D. #3 looked like a feathered porcupine, multiple arrow bolts sticking out of his body in the most detrimental of places. Mahoney shook his head, if #3 was a porcupine, then J. D. #4 was a pin cushion, his body peppered with nails from what he guessed was the empty nail gun that had been discarded on a table. Last but not least was John Doe #5 who looked like he had been attacked by a tool box – there were screwdrivers, pliers, saw blades and even a hammer stuck in his body by its tines, the floor littered with what didn’t stick, like the sheets of sandpaper.

Detective Nicholas Faulk stopped next to Mahoney and looked up thoughtfully at the bodies that were still being documented. “You know,” he started, breaking the silence. “It almost looks like… someone used them for target practice.”


	6. Swallow the Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY that this took so long – writer’s block is a merciless bitch. However, finally finishing The Defenders and The Punisher has seemed to help me out a bit. I have the rest of this story roughly outlined, so hopefully that will help streamline progress as well. HOWEVER, December is a really busy season for me work wise + I usually don’t get much down time soo…

_Matt was in a crumpled heap on the floor, his entire body one big pile of misery. Every breath was like a knife in his side, his head was constantly pounding, and he had started to lose feeling in his right arm. He was well beyond the point of hunger, his stomach having turned itself inside out in search of food – he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Hell, he didn’t even know what day it was, let alone the time. It could have been hours or even days since the last encounter with his captor, he wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been drifting in and out of consciousness. He struggled to push himself up into a seated position, his arm blazing in a fit of pins and needles as he pressed back against the wall. His shoulder was dislocated, he could sense as well as feel the separation of the joint and socket, yet there was no feasible way he could get it back into place on his own. He sighed in both frustration and hopelessness, dark emotions swarming wildly in his mind. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make it out of this one, but he distracted himself by pulling at the fraying threads of his body armor._

_During the first interrogation, Matt had been extremely grateful for the brilliant handiwork and skill that had gone into his costume. Because of Melvin’s dedication to his craft, the reinforced padding of his suit had defended him far better than he could have ever hoped for. However, once knives were introduced into the fray, his captor had cut the trusty material to pieces in demented frustration. Red scraps now hung off of him like some kind of decorative fringe as his protective black underclothes remained pretty much intact, for now at least, and his mask… He had flinched at every sledgehammer strike that had connected, shattering his patented disguise into jagged pieces. Even if he did somehow manage to escape this hellhole, Matt knew that it would most likely come at a great cost to his now unshielded body._

_As if sensing his newfound vulnerability, the door crashed open noisily before his captor strolled in whistling nonchalantly off-key. “Well look who’s up, and all on his own too.” Booted footsteps came to a stop in front of Matt as the heavy smell of deep-fry grease saturated the air, and he jumped when a handful of small objects pelted his chest. One landed in his hand and he tilted his head in confusion, they were… French fries? An aggressive hand suddenly gripped his chin, forcing his head side to side. “Still nothing huh? Shit… I guess that’s a hard lesson learned for me.” Matt’s head was shoved away and there was the crinkling of a paper bag before more fries were thrown at him, “I mean who knew that a hit to the head in just the right place causes a guy to go blind.” Matt’s stomach began growling in frustration, the prospect of actually eating something sending it into a frenzy. “Oh yeah, I guess I should give this to you. It’s the whole reason I came down here you know… Going out of my way to bring you something special. Man, I really am a great guy aren’t I?” Matt kept his face blank as he heard the bag being waved in front of his face, highly skeptical of the whole situation._

_"C’mon, you just gotta reach out and… Oh, oh you can’t… Here, let me help you with that…” there was the light thump of the bag hitting the ground before hands roughly grabbed Matt by the collar and shoved him over onto his stomach. A knee was planted in the center of his back as two hands gripped his dislocated shoulder, “Now you might feel a slight pinch…”_

-

Matt jerked out of his meditation, his heart hammering in his chest as his shoulder throbbed at the memory. The familiar sense of unease began creeping into his chest, fear lancing through his heart as he realized that he was alone. His hand shook as he reached out and deftly closed his fingers around Karen’s sweater, her scent calming his frayed nerves as he brought it to his chest. Another week had passed since his return, and even though his body had continued to heal nicely, he still couldn’t shake the sheer terror that sometimes overwhelmed his mind, particularly when he was alone. Karen had been unable to swing another week working from home, Foggy had suddenly gotten slammed with case after case from his firm, and in all honesty, Matt didn’t feel comfortable enough to go out on his own. He still had no idea who had taken him hostage, only that they were somehow involved with Wilson Fisk and his vendetta against Daredevil. He had hoped that meditating would clear the fog from his mind and start putting things together, yet it all came in clips and flashes, and when he was lucky enough to get an entire scene together, it would end in a brief disoriented panic.

How was he even supposed to get his memories in order when he had no sense of the passing of time while he was gone? When Karen had informed him that he had been missing for about three months, at first, he didn’t want to believe her, but now he wasn’t so sure. Being trapped in some sort of industrial basement didn’t exactly allow him to sense the changes in the day, not to mention the pounding headache that had plagued him for so long that had messed up his senses, and the numerous times that he had either passed out or been knocked unconscious. He sighed in defeat and stretched out onto the floor, using the sweater to cover his face. He hated this. He hated being so weak and afraid and frustratingly anxious almost all the time. Getting back up onto his feet seemed impossible, especially when his mind wanted so desperately to keep him laid out on the ground where it was safe.

For now.

-

The cursor line was flashing against a blank white screen as Karen thumped her head against her desk in frustration, her office supplies jumping minutely with every impact. To say that it had been a slow first day back was an understatement, everyone and everything had managed to step on each one of her nerves, and now she was having a major case of writer’s block. Because she had been out, Karen was at the bottom of the barrel for any new leads that might have come along, and even though Ellison would not allow her to extend her leave, there was practically nothing for her to work on. At first, she had been stuck proofreading some boring articles about the upcoming Food and Wine Festival, which she could have done at home, with Matt, so that he wouldn’t be left all alone. She sat back in her chair, blowing the stray hair out of her face as she glared angrily at the clock on the wall – only two hours had passed since she first arrived, and she was ready to throw her computer out the window, consequences be damned.

Earlier she had attempted to call Frank, realizing that it was about time for their bi-weekly meetup and that she needed to tell him that Matt was finally home, but all she had gotten were the annoying “not in service” beeps. Which meant one of two things; he was actually out of the serviceable area, or he had lost/forgotten yet another phone and she would just have to wait for him to call. After that failed attempt, she had to stop herself from calling Matt just to check up on him and see how he was doing. She had told him that she would call on her lunch, and had said that he could always call her if he needed anything as she practically fused his cellphone to his hand, but so far it had been radio silence and she was chomping at the bit to hear his voice. It was as if the past two weeks of them being practically attached at the hip wasn’t enough to make up for the three months of lost time, let alone the apparent separation anxiety that she was experiencing now.

Karen sighed and moved her mouse, clicking over to the archive files on her computer. If she didn’t have anything new to report on, she might as well look through past articles just to kill some time. Who knows, maybe for some sort of inspiration would strike… It was going to be a horrendously long day.

-

James Lamason used to be a good kid – A’s and B’s all throughout his school years, honor roll, dean’s list, volunteering at an animal shelter, heck, kid even made it all the way to Eagle Scout in his troop, but that was before… Like what happened with so many other kids out there running wild in Hell’s Kitchen, he got involved with the wrong crowd by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and from that day forward he was known as “Jimmy the Rope” instead. All of those Boy Scouts lessons being turned into handy interrogation and intimidation tools, especially his knot tying merit badge, his choice of specialty. But even his plethora of survival skills couldn’t help him from the new unknown threat in town, and now James “Jimmy the Rope” Lamason was yet another body in the morgue, another unsolved homicide, another file folder to deal with. Why did all these murders have to keep happening in his district?

Sergeant Brett Mahoney rubbed his eyes, willing all of the paperwork flooding his desk to be magically solved and filed away so that he could finally take a much-needed vacation. He was still dealing with the warehouse mess that had slowly exploded into some kind of deranged circus – in the midst of their investigation, a Jane Doe had been discovered at the scene, having been stuffed into an empty oil drum. Half of his department still hadn’t finished cataloguing the insane amount of evidence and discovery while the other half was still working on identifying all the John’s and now the one Jane Doe… and now this. Jimmy’s body had been found in the middle of a mostly unused alley, a plastic drinking straw pierced so violently through his throat that the mortician still couldn’t remove all of it because it was stuck in his vertebrae. And the real kicker? It had gone in exactly where it would cut off his airway just enough, resulting in him slowly suffocating to death. If Mahoney had learned anything from all of this organized confusion, it was that whomever was committing these crimes enjoyed making their victims suffer, and was most likely completely psychotic beyond all reason. Which was just freaking great.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck on both sides before stretching his arms above his head with a groan, he definitely had way too much on his plate. And that wasn’t even taking into the account of the mystery surrounding Matt Murdock. All the commotion had pushed Murdock to the back burner, especially considering he didn’t have an official case file going. Brett had meant to give Foggy a call to see if there had been any revelations concerning Matt’s whereabouts in the time that he was missing, but he had just gotten too busy. Hell, he didn’t even know if Foggy’s number was saved in his new phone. He sighed, vowing to himself to call Foggy’s firm to get in touch, or maybe he could even call The Bulletin and talk to Karen. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

-

A quiet, albeit insistent knocking, startled Matt out of yet another unsuccessful attempt at meditation and he sighed, shaking his head to clear the haziness before gingerly pushing himself up from the floor. He didn’t understand why this was all so difficult to put together – those concussions might have done more damage than he suspected. He rested his hand on the deadbolt, somewhat leery of his unsuspected guest… until he heard Foggy muttering to himself on the other side of the door. “Hey Foggy,” he greeted, as the door swung open. “Hey Matt, I’m glad you’re here…”

“Where else would I be?” Matt mused, a sardonic smile crossing his face as Foggy crossed the threshold and he closed the door. “True, I guess I should say I’m glad you’re up. Anyways… ” Foggy shuffled the various folders he was holding and adjusted the briefcase strap that was on his shoulder. “I was kinda hoping that you could use some company… while simultaneously using your brain to help me out with a few things. Hogarth has me up to my ears in casework and, to be honest, I can’t concentrate worth a damn in that office right now, it’s making me crazy.”

“Yeah, of course,” Matt held out his arm in invitation and Foggy didn’t hesitate to walk over and dump everything onto the coffee table. “Thanks Matt, this really means a lot to me, I feel like I’m drowning over there.” ‘While I feel like I’m drowning over here’ Matt thought to himself as he sat down across from his friend and listened as Foggy began reading him the details of a case.

-

_Matt ached. Way down in the very depths of his body and soul, he ached in complete desolation. He had never hurt so much in his entire life – even when he had lost his sight… Even when his father had died… He had never felt so utterly defeated. And what was worse, what made his current situation ten times worse, was the smell of the dead body… of her dead body. He couldn’t escape it. Even after they had finally pried her cold and lifeless form away from his grasp and doused both him and the floor with a hose, the stink of rot mixed with delicate lavender lingered in his senses. It stabbed at him, a knife to the gut, twisting and turning, shredding what little ties to sanity that remained._

_He curled into a ball, hugging his knees and ignoring the muscles of his back as they screamed in protest, conceding that he somehow deserved the pain. He earned all of it and more, anything that was done to him from now on he deserved, because of what happened to her… Because he couldn’t stop her from… He didn’t save… “Oh Matt, it’s alright.” He jumped, the familiar voice sending his heart into overdrive. That… was impossible. He waited for the voice to sound again, straining his ears as he held his breath in both dread and anticipation. Certainly, he was hearing things, the trauma and loneliness having finally driven him crazy. “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He sobbed, pressing his face harder into his knees at the sympathetic tone, of course he was going insane, it was just his luck. It seemed that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had finally arrived in Hell itself._


End file.
